


Look

by xiilnek



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 18:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/865099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiilnek/pseuds/xiilnek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene looks. He can't stand it, but he looks anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look

It's in the slouch, in the way every inch of him is just where he wants it to be. In his fingers fiddling with the button of those torn, faded jeans, in his hips thrown out at exactly the right angle, his back arched just enough to show his silhouette through that thin excuse for a shirt, enough to tell just how cold the night must be. It's all there, calculated, sending a message to those who know how to look. 

The lads picked him out for this job as a joke. Probably a good thing they can't see him now.

I can see his eyelashes, if I squint. A thin dark line against skin washed yellow under the streetlight. His head's tilted back, his eyes closed on a peaceful expression that makes my gut clench. His lips part too slowly, his adam's apple working before he takes a hearty drag from a half-gone cigarette.

I didn't even know he smoked. Now he's sucking them down like he was born to it, like a promise.

The light switches off, but the sun's started to come up and I can see his hand twitch, fingers skimming over his stomach, inching toward his waistband before his lips twist in a shade of smirk I've never seen before. He tosses the cigarette between feet spread wide, pushes off the lamp and takes long, easy strides toward the car. It's there in his walk, a rolling strut that's just off-centre from his normal stride. That stride takes him to my passenger door, which he slings open to fall into the seat and promptly become a different person. A more familiar one. I take slow, small breaths, feel my jaw clench. 

"We'll get him yet, Guv. He'll take the bait sooner or later." He reaches out to squeeze my shoulder, all warm encouragement, but from the corner of my eye I can see the instant his smile begins to fade. A moment after he drops his hand, I manage to lift my own and wrap it around the steering wheel, start the drive from Canal Street to his flat. 

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't stop burning into the side of my skull for an instant. I keep my eyes on the road.


End file.
